


Heart of Clockwork

by Shinyshinx



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, i wrote it at three in the morning gimme a break, mental reliance on another person, rlly short, unhealthy relationship mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinyshinx/pseuds/Shinyshinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic I wrote to go with a headcanon of mine at three in the morning.</p><p>Davesprite can't sleep without some sort of noise. Hal's chest remedies this issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> bluh bluh otp i never write for even tho i should

You press your ear to his chest and listen.  
Uranium doesn’t make a sound; the rest of him does. He doesn’t need his heart to beat as long as his systems are running, as the gears and grinding metal parts are turning and the delicate wires are pulling and humming with electricity, while the skeleton frame he’s built from holds his inner workings and the synthetic skin runs over your hair and face, and you sigh from your nose. His fingers brush through orange locks and tiny feathers, scratch ever so gently at your scalp in the way he knows you adore, and you fold one of your wings over him, curl your tail around his legs, press yourself closer against his chest, listening, listening. The sounds he makes are so indescribably soothing to you. Even without the caress of his hand, you’d still be at ease.  
His other hand is resting on the fluffy part of your back, underneath the outstretched wing-blanket, gently ruffling your feathers. He hums softly, and you feel it vibrate through him, press your ear ever closer still to hear it as you coo in response. You’re safe here, against him-it’s where you belong, where you fit. He fits here too. It’s as if you two are extra printed puzzle pieces at the bottom of the box and you don’t fit the rest of the picture so you click together instead, there’s already a printed copy of your piece of the picture. You fit together, you and him, in sync with each other, understanding each other, finding yourselves through the loneliness and taking comfort in each other’s presence.  
He doesn’t understand why you like his chest so much. He tells you he doesn’t even have a heartbeat. You tell him he does, that you love listening to it. The whirring and clicking reminds you of Texas, the sounds of the city that would lull you to sleep each long night. You couldn’t sleep on the boat. The silence was maddening. Here, you find refuge in the constant spinning of his fans, in the subtle ticking of what resembled a clock(you’re positive it’s not an actual clock, but you have no fuckin’ clue to what it actually is, either), get pulled in by the lullaby of a mechanical life beside you. It’s soothing, and relaxing, just like his hands in your hair and feathers, the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head, murmuring little, sweet things into a nest of orange.  
His words are possessive; I love yous and you’re mines, things typically emotionally abusive, now something you find comfort in. I wouldn’t be able to live without yous, You’re my Dave, things too horrible to say to someone that didn’t understand you so well. He knows you love to hear his words, hear him talk to you like that, because it’s true. You wouldn’t be able to function without him, and you’d hope vice versa. It’s the most unhealthy thing by Rose’s, by anyone else’s standards, but they can all go fuck themselves, because this is the healthiest you’ve been since this godforsaken game had started and dragged you down in its clutches, this is the happiest you’ve been since you ripped yourself from your timeline and killed both your sister and your brother. Hal fills the broken, gaping holes in you the best he can, and you do your best to seep into the cracks of him.  
Your face against his chest, listening. You vaguely wonder if you can make a sick beat out of this thrumming emitting from him as your eyes begin to slide shut, your grip on him in no way loosening. Uranium doesn’t make a sound, but the pounding of his heartbeat is filling your head, leaving you dizzy and relaxed, swept off your nonexistent feet, catching your breath. His hands travel down your sides, back up, along your wing, along your back; you coo, peep, snuggle in as close as you can get him. Your shitty heart beats along with his. Your movements match his when he reaches for your hand, intertwines your fingers. You are his mirror. His copy, in a way that will never compare to what you have with Dave. This is being a willing copy. This is being so in sync with someone, so utterly, and hopelessly in love, that it’s all you want to do, is mirror him, understand him.  
You fall asleep and dream of city lights replacing the stars.


End file.
